Chronicles of the Four: The Complete Series Page 8

  As the distance between them shortened, Dela was able to make them out more clearly.

  “Bunch of freaks,” Brer—the guy who’d been at school with Ridley—muttered.

  “Shut up,” she snapped. “You don’t know how good their hearing is.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, like a dog’s.”

  She leaned out and punched him in the arm.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “These are important people. The other races send their best to the Passover, unlike us.”

  “They’re not people, though, are they? Isn’t that the point? Besides, I thought you of all of us would be a bit more wary of them.”

  His words made her straighten, and her stomach clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We don’t know what happened to Ridley. Maybe he got on the wrong side of one of these guys.”

  Dela scowled at him, not wanting to even entertain the thought. “There are plenty of dangers on this journey, and anyway, they were attacked by something. The others lost sight of him, and that’s all we know. I’m not going to start putting blame on others when no one really knows what happened.”

  Brer shrugged. “Suit yourself, but if it was my only brother, I think I’d have tried a little harder to find out what attacked him in the first place.”

  His words stung, and she twisted her face away, not wanting him to see her angry tears. She hadn’t been able to do anything more to find out the truth. She’d been left as the only child of her mother and father, and she wasn’t about to leave them alone to go off on some pointless quest. The Chosen who’d returned from the Passover that year had already told her everything they knew, and they were the ones who’d been there. How was she ever supposed to find out more than they already knew? She probably would have died trying and then would have left her parents with no children at all. She wanted to fight her corner with Brer and explain all the reasons she hadn’t fought harder to find out exactly what had happened to Ridley, but she clamped her mouth shut. She told herself it was because this wasn’t the time, but deep down, the niggling worm of doubt tried to raise its head. Maybe she didn’t want to fight with him because she knew he was right.

  Dela pushed Brer’s words aside and focused on the road—and the people—up ahead.

  Now they were closer, she was able to make out more detail. Leading the way was a man with massive shoulders and long, brown hair. His chest was bare, exposing massive pectoral muscles and thick ridges of abdominals. She wondered how he could stand the cold. He was riding what appeared to be a huge, hairy white goat, with horns that protruded in thick swirls from its forehead. Beside him rode a similar looking man, and behind them came the carts of black coal they were to exchange. So they were the Norcs, she thought. The ones everyone said were rough and uncivilized. Behind them, a male with white blond hair sat astride a magnificent stag. The Elvish. This one might even be considered royalty among his own kind, though of course the human royals didn’t acknowledge them as such.

  Bringing up the rear were a number of men on horseback. Their skin was the color of tanned hide, their hair long and black. The man leading their group wore his hair in twin braids which lay down the front of his leather covered chest. None of the dark skinned men had saddles for their horses, preferring to ride bareback. These were the Moerians.

  Her heart pattered in exhilaration, and Dela picked up her pace, so eager to meet them that she inadvertently became the one leading their convoy.

  Chapter Twelve

  Warsgra

  “THERE THEY ARE,” WARSGRA grunted. “Sorry looking bunch, too.”

  Julta glanced over at him as they rode closer. “Cut them some slack, Warsgra. They’ve come a long way, and they’re not built for these conditions.”

  He snorted. “Soft and fragile, that’s what they are. They have no business coming this way at all. The mountains are our home.”

  “Let’s just get this over and done with, and then we can bid them farewell.”

  They got closer, the human’s small shapes becoming more defined. Most of them walked alongside the carts of grain pulled by oxen on yokes, much the same as the bison who pulled his carts of coal, only less built for these conditions.

  They got closer still, and Warsgra frowned. If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, the one who appeared to be leading the group was a young woman with hair that looked like golden flames. Unlike many of the shuffling, limping group, she held herself tall, her chin up, her shoulders back. He didn’t see any fear in her eyes, only interest, and he couldn’t tell if that pissed him off or not. He normally enjoyed seeing a flicker of fear in a stranger’s eyes, especially when they saw the size of both him and his axe. An older male human walked close behind her. A lover? No, too old. A father, perhaps? Not that it mattered to Warsgra. Humans didn’t interest him; it was the contents of the carts that got his attention. His clan didn’t want for much and their needs were few, but the grain would allow them to make bread for the next six months, and would keep small bellies full, and the women content. Whenever he returned with the carts filled with grain, his people cheered and ran alongside them, knowing they’d be fed for another six months.

  He was close enough now to see the young woman in detail. In contrast to her hair, which looked as though it were made of the gold the Moerians carried, her eyes were a soft brown. Her nose was small and delicate, her lips full, her cheekbones high. A slender neck vanished beneath a smock-like top which hid her shape, and she wore thick leather pants and heavy boots. He liked the practicality of the way she dressed, reminding him of Norc women. There was no room for finery when survival was at stake.

  The humans stopped where they were, and he pulled his goat to a halt. Knowing he had nothing to fear from these humans, he jumped from the animal’s back and handed the rope-reins over to Jultu.

  “Greetings,” he said, stepping forward. “I hope the journey wasn’t too arduous.”

  He could feel the young woman staring at him, and he was tempted to stare back. Normally, the humans were frightened of him, his size and strange dress, and the way he was twice their size. He was used to them stuttering and being unable to meet his eye, not gazing at him unflinchingly the way this woman was doing.

  “See something you like?” he said instead, smirking as her cheeks colored and she glanced away. His stomach dipped in disappointment, and he found himself regretting that he’d said anything. He had been rather enjoying being the focus of her clear gaze.

  That was fine. He didn’t need the interest of some young girl with limbs so spindly she looked like he could snap her across his knee. They had a job to do.

  “We’ll divide the grain between our three races,” he said. A third for the Norcs, a third for the Moerians, and a third for the Elvish.

  Behind him, both Orergon and Vehel had dismounted. These humans didn’t look like much of a threat, but he still sensed both Orergon’s and Vehel’s men grow more alert as their leaders approached the humans.

  Vehel reached into the satchel at his waist and removed the small pouch which contained his contribution to the Passover—the diamonds.

  He held them out to the young woman, who took them and handed them behind her to the man at her shoulder.

  “Don’t you wish to inspect them?” Vehel asked her.

  She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Inspect them for what? I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

  The man behind her appeared to, however, as he tipped the pouch, emptying the tiny clear gems into his palm.

  The woman, however, didn’t even glance back. Instead, she looked between them each—him, Vehel, and Orergon—as though she was studying them. Warsgra held himself straighter, even though he already stood a foot above the others, and pushed back his shoulders. He wasn’t sure he liked sharing the woman’s intense gaze with the other two.

  “And you?” she said, nodding at Orergon. “Do you have your exchange ready?”

  Orergon lifted his hand
in the greeting of their kind, exposing his palm to her. “Of course.” He nodded back to one of his men, who stepped forward. The gold was heavy, and had been carried on satchels slung across the horse’s back. There was substantially more of it than of the diamonds—something Warsgra couldn’t fathom, why one should be more precious than another—and he handed it over to the woman.

  She dropped slightly under its weight. “Heavier than I was expecting,” she said, before turning around and handing it to the man behind her.

  He’d already put the diamonds back in the pouch.

  What prevented them from just taking the precious materials and not returning home? It wasn’t as though they were interested in feeding their families with them, like he was. Were they so frightened of the king and queen who ruled over them that they’d never even consider taking the goods for themselves? Or perhaps the goods simply had no value to them. Unless you knew someone who would buy them, they were worthless, and he was sure most of these people had never left their homeland before.

  This part of the Southern Pass was wide enough for them to allow two carts to pass each other, which was why the timings were done as they were, so they’d meet up in the widest point. The bison pulling his carts of coal would continue forward, and be taken by the humans, while he would take the oxen. The oxen weren’t much good to him on the mountainside where his clan lived, but they would make good enough roasting meat.

  “Let’s move them on,” he called.

  The humans would need to take control of the bison, and his clansmen would take over driving his portion of the oxen. He assumed both the Moerians and the Elvish released their oxen into the wild once they’d arrived home. It wasn’t as though the Elvish ate meat, and the Moerians had plenty of space to accommodate them. The animals probably went on to have good lives roaming the Vast Plains, assuming they weren’t eaten by the local wildlife, of course.

  The exchange started, with the humans who’d been driving the grain carts jumping down. Some gave the animals they’d been driving a pat on the flank or a scratch behind the ear, and Warsgra did his best not to roll his eyes at the display of affection. These were beasts for work or food, not to be treated like some kind of pet.

  His men also climbed down from the coal carts.

  But then he caught sight of the young woman who’d been leading their group. Instead of paying attention to the exchange and making sure her people were going where they needed to be, she was standing with her hands jammed against her hips, staring into the distance at something behind them.

  “What is that?” she said, so softly it was as though she was speaking to herself.

  Warsgra glanced over his shoulder to follow her line of sight, and his stomach curdled.

  Where the tall cliff faces of the Southern Pass met the sky, there was now only a streak of white. It was so thick, he couldn’t see where the mountain cliffs ended, or the peaks of the range beyond. He’d seen this before, but from a great distance. He’d never seen it so close, and even as he stared, it grew closer, as though it was being blown down the Southern Pass toward them, though he could feel no wind on his face.

  “Move!” he bellowed. “Everyone, move, now!”

  Confusion rippled among the motley crew of beings, but no one stirred. They didn’t know what direction they were supposed to be going in, or what they were even running from.

  The young woman turned to him, her eyes wide. “What is it?” she said, and this time he knew the question was directed at him.

  “It’s the Long White Cloud.”

  Understanding dawned on her face, and with it came horror.

  “We need to go back,” she cried, turning to run toward her people. “Turn the carts around. We have to get out of here.”

  He wanted to tell her not to worry about the carts, that they’d be faster on foot, but he saw how weak and fragile her people were, how many of them had been riding the grain carts when they’d arrived. His own people were either riding by goat, or driving the coal carts.

  He wouldn’t normally have offered to help humans, but something about her and her desperation, made him offer.

  “Leave the grain carts. Get your people up on the coal carts. You don’t have time to turn them around.”

  She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide in her pale face, and then nodded. She took off again, her hair flying behind her as she ran from person to person, directing and helping them where she could.

  Both Orergon and Vehel had remounted their animals, and they drew up alongside them.

  “If we continue this way,” Orergon said, “we’ll be entering the Eastern side of Xantearos, and we’ll be breaking the Treaty.”

  Warsgra tightened his jaw. “If we don’t go this way, we’re all going to die.”

  Orergon pressed his lips together and nodded. Then he turned to Vehel. “Can you do anything to stop it?”

  They all knew what he meant. They were talking about the way the Elvish prince had rid them of the little furry creatures that had attacked them the previous day.

  But Vehel’s light blue eyes widened, and he shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. I have no idea. I’ve never faced this before.”

  “None of us have,” Warsgra said. “Not like this.”

  He looked back again. The cloud was already noticeably closer, barreling down toward them. The things that lurked inside the cloud were the sort of things parents told to their children at night to make them behave themselves. The living didn’t get swallowed by the cloud only to come out alive and unscathed. If it reached them, the death toll would be unfathomable, and he didn’t even want to give a thought as to the ways in which they would die.

  They’d managed to get the humans onto the coal carts. A few still ran around aimlessly, and he spotted the young woman and a couple of others among them.

  “Get the girl,” he said to Orergon as she ran by.

  Orergon reached down and caught her by the arm, hauling her up and onto the back of his horse. But instead of thanking him for helping, she struggled to get down again.

  “What are you doing?” Orergon asked, exasperated.

  “My friend is over there. She needs me with her.”

  Warsgra glanced over to where a skinny woman of about the same age as the redhead ran from cart to cart, moving over supplies. He jabbed his heels into the side of his goat and galloped up to her.

  “Leave that, silly girl. You won’t need blankets if you’re dead.”

  Then, just as Orergon had done, he reached down and hauled her up and swung her onto his goat to sit behind him. He glanced over to Orergon and the woman, and was relieved to see she’d stopped fighting to get down.

  “Let’s move!” he roared, and, with no other choice, they left the oxen still tethered to the grain carts, snorting in panic, as the Long White Cloud approached.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dela

  DELA FELT DIZZY WITH fear as she clung around the waist of the Moerian leader. They galloped down the Southern Pass, back in the direction they’d just come. With no saddle on the horse, Dela dug her knees into the animal’s wide belly and held on tighter to the man in front, terrified she was going to fall and be trampled under the hooves of all the beasts running alongside them, or rolled under the wheels of one of the coal carts.

  But that wasn’t her biggest fear. No, her biggest fear was the white plumes of clouds that now blocked her view of the entire Southern Pass behind her. The cloud was so thick, it was impossible to see through. It filled space between the walls of the Southern Pass, rising high into the sky, as tall as the mountains themselves. And the cloud was gaining on them, moving far faster than any of them could. They’d never make it to the exit of the pass, where they stood a chance of finding shelter. It had taken them two days to get here from the entrance. Yes, they were traveling far faster now, but even so, their survival felt hopeless.

  She tried to keep sight of where all her people were, but they’d all mixed in together now and we
re impossible to spot. She caught glimpses of them, of Layla riding behind the Norc man, of Norton riding one of the coal carts, of Brer on the back of one of the Moerian horses. Goat, horse, stag, carts. Human, Elvish, Moerian, and Norcs. They were a strange ensemble of beings, but right now they were united in one thing, and that was putting distance between them and the Long White Cloud. If it swallowed them, they most likely wouldn’t make it out alive.

  Behind them came the terrified shrieks of fear of the oxen they’d abandoned. Her heart shattered at the thought of their terror and panic. They wouldn’t be able to turn around on their own, not with the carts still attached to their yokes, and there hadn’t been enough time to move between them and unhook them. Besides, having numerous untethered oxen running through the Southern Pass would only have hindered their own escape. Dela knew all of this, but it didn’t stop her from feeling terrible about it. She never liked to think of anything in pain, human or beast.

  They were never going to make it. The animals they were riding would collapse of exhaustion long before they reached the entrance to the pass. Those still pulling the coal carts were already lagging way behind, and they had a long way to go. Every time she looked back over her shoulder, the wall of white cloud appeared to be getting closer. It was almost as though it was chasing them, but such a thing was insane. It didn’t have a thought process to be able to do that. It was just a cloud, something made up of water particles suspended in the air.

  But Dela knew the stories. She knew how this thing swallowed men up whole, and never spat them out again—not alive, anyway. She’d always liked to believe they were only fairytales, but, now she was seeing it for herself, she could understand where those stories had come from.

  Her arms wrapped tighter around the man directly in front of her. Because of the pace they were riding at, she had no choice but to lean into him, pressing her face and body up against his back. He was strong and lean, and even though there was no saddle, he felt as secure on the horse as though he were a part of it.